


Aaron Burr/Reader - History Obliterates

by Amorentia_Quibble



Series: Hamilton Story Series [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Reader and Burr aren't married, i wanted to write angst, the final duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:23:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorentia_Quibble/pseuds/Amorentia_Quibble
Summary: Aaron had been near distraught since the result of the election, obsessed with that room, with being in the know. After months of hostility between him and Hamilton, it all came to a head.And you couldn't let it end this way.





	Aaron Burr/Reader - History Obliterates

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try my hand at some angst, dunno how well it went but I hope that you guys enjoy!

Aaron had been near distraught since the election’s result. You never quite understood his obsession with being in that stupid room, to be in the know so,  _ so _ badly. It was one of the only things he had talked about with any form of passion, his beliefs and opinions pushed to the side to allow for him to adopt a more placid demeanour, to keep quiet, smile and nod when asked of any political stances. Talk less, smile more. Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for. It was a phrase he’d uttered almost enough to be considered a personal prayer. One you’d heard enough to grow to despise. But never in relation to that damned room, where everything seemed to take place, those most important discussions and deals, decision makers for cities, for states, for the nation as a whole. He  _ had  _ to know, to be a part of the discussion, and it was the only thing he’d worked so vigorously on for years and years. Losing that chance, you feared, was sending him to the brink of insanity.

 

Maybe if Jefferson hadn’t refused their partnership, if he didn’t refuse for him to be Vice President… Maybe then he would have been less brash. After all, there was no denying that, even if the water had been boiling over for years now, for as long as you’d known the two men, the catalyst for that first letter to Hamilton had been the words of Jefferson.

 

_ Burr, when you see Hamilton, thank him for the endorsement. _

 

Since that day, one filled with furious writing from your long-term partner, Aaron and Alexander quickly found themselves locked in a heated battle of words, insults and one-upmanship. You knew Hamilton wrote like he was running out of time, but never had you seen your lover write in such haste. Maybe if he hadn’t been as hasty, things would have turned out favourably, but alas…

 

This went on for months, sometimes simmering off, you hoping and praying that it would mark the end of the feud, but no, something else would reignite the fight, another insult from Jefferson or Madison, an ill-spoken word from one of the men, hell, a glance the wrong way could spell a letter in the mail long enough to lay, full length, down the stairs. Hamilton managed to write an entire, itemised list of the thirty years of disagreements the pairs had, and that, while ridiculous, had been one of the more amusing letters to read. 

 

But things seemed to come to a head not long after, despite this heated feud continuing on for far longer than it should ever have had to. The day had been quiet, for the most part, you brushing the knots from the hair of your daughter, Theodosia, when Aaron knocked on the door, peering into the room you both sat in. He looked exhausted, eyes dulled from lack of sleep, stress lines etched into his face, under his eyes, across his forehead, between his eyebrows that he furrowed far too often. But despite it being late into the evening, he was fully clothed, dressed immaculately.

 

“Is something the matter, my love?” You questioned, standing and leaving the hairbrush with your daughter as your hands gravitated toward Burr’s, squeezing them gently as he glanced to the ground.

 

“I’m heading out to meet William, I hope to be home later in the evening.” He said, pulling you closer only slightly, eyes that seemed dull now filled with emotion, something just beyond your grasp, that wasn’t quite palpable enough to comprehend. Love? Fear? Relief? All of these at once? It was beyond you, but you wished to know.

 

Him meeting his friend, William P. Van Ness, on such late notice seemed odd in itself, suspicion overtaking you, “Is something wrong?” You repeated, trying to identify the emotions hidden behind that stupid mask, that stupid fake smile and fake charm.

 

He shook his head, lying through his teeth, “Everything’s fine, I’ll be home by ten at the latest.” He assured, pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, “I love you,” were the last words he uttered before marching away toward the front door, hat in one hand, his pistol case in the other.

 

It took only a moment for things to connect in your mind. Van Ness, the pistol, the time, the utterance of love matched with such emotion behind his eyes. Your love was about to take part in a duel, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be coming back alive.

 

You found yourself dashing back into the room almost without realising, sternly commanding your daughter to remain put as you sprinted upstairs to find clothes that weren’t mere bed wear, something socially acceptable to wear outside of your home, to chase down your lover in. But, you didn’t even get the chance to begin a rushed search before a piece of paper on your shared bed caught your attention, rolled neatly with a ribbon tied around to keep it secure. Fear pumping in your chest, you snatched it up, sliding the ribbon off the the paper without undoing the ornate bow, eyes scanning quickly over every word as you unrolled the parchment, messy blotches of ink showing just how rushed Burr had been while writing this. And your suspicions were confirmed with every line, admissions of love, of desire to elope, to say much more than he could manage in a short goodbye. You had to stave off tears as you remembered the situation at hand, scanning for a location, anything to go off, to end this stupidity before it started.

 

Finally you found it, a subtle joke at the more flimsy duelling laws in New Jersey, enough for you to know that you would have to travel across the Hudson to reach them. Were you going to be too late?

 

Disregarding whatever fears you’d had over ridicule based on your attire, you rushed back downstairs, letter still clutched tightly in your grasp as you slammed the door open and ran across the streets, frantically trying to remember where the nearest dock would be. It wasn’t often you would have to find it, but god forbid you having to swim across the Hudson just to stop your idiot lover from becoming a dead idiot.

 

Why would Burr agree to anything as  _ brash _ as this? You knew him, he did not condone violence such as this, even in the midst of war! He openly discouraged petty duels such as this, but now-

 

You pushed aside your worries and confusement as the river came into view, boats travelling across barely visible under the mere sliver of moon shining in the sky, an eerie white outline the best you could make out of the men nearing the shore of New Jersey.

 

There were no boats in sight on your side of the river, all the small wooden rowboats travelling across in that moment. Two were almost at the shore, very distinct figures you knew too well sat there, awaiting whatever fate had in store for them.

 

You couldn’t let this happen. You weren’t about to lose him over a political dispute!

 

Without thinking, you found yourself in knee-deep water, ignoring the iciness of it lapping further up your form as you made a desperate attempt to swim across the Hudson. Your cotton garments, absorbing water and gaining weight by the second, made your movements slow and arduous, losing whatever momentum you may have had at first quickly to the hinderance that was your clothes. Dignity a concept not important in your mind anymore, you pulled your nightgown off of your panting form, leaving it to float along past you, carried by the current that seemed calm in comparison to the fear building in your mind. You had to reach them, it didn’t matter what you did in the process. 

 

Your legs kicked frantically as your arms swept aside water, fighting the current as you swam diagonally against it, almost wanting to shout out to the boats, scream at them to stop, but you worried that it would only instigate the duel, make it happen faster.  _ You could make it, just focus on swimming, you could make it-! _

 

By the time the last boats were reaching the shore, you had made it halfway across the river, a feat you’d never imagined completing at all, beyond this situation. Your muscles ached from the exertion, but hearing the voices making it to shore shouting at one another of the precious cargo they held, the pistols about the be used in the duel you knew would only end in tragedy, only kept you going. The current wasn’t as strong now, weakening more as you got closer to the destination you needed so desperately to reach. Even in only undergarments, the weight of the waterlogged fabric was enough to make you too slow, too late, too _slow_ , _too_ **_late_**.

 

Another ten minutes passes and you’re so,  _ so  _ close to the shore, enough to hear the familiar voice of Van Ness, and Nathaniel Pendleton, Georgia’s State District Judge. The two seconds, meeting face to face.

 

You were about to run out of time. 

 

Your head was spinning from exhaustion, mind racing as you felt tears fall down your cheeks, barely visible with how wet your face already was. You’d swallowed too much water, coughing and spluttering as you felt your toes barely brush the riverbed. 

 

_ You could still make it! _

 

With new vigor, you swam, using your feet to propel you as they met the floor of the river, and soon enough, you were running, legs like jelly with your arms wrapped around your dripping, half-naked form. Your hair was stuck to your face, sand and dirt clinging to the soles of your feet, but you didn’t care, just clambering up the river bank, eyes desperate as you caught sight of Burr, your love, and Hamilton, your friend-

 

And then there were gunshots.

 

Something died in you in that moment, before even knowing the result. Something in you knew that one had just died. Your lover, the one with whom you had raised a child, who kept to himself but held so much love and care in his heart. The man who brought you happiness, provided a family, a daughter more beautiful than anything you could bother attempting to imagine. He, or your friend, passionate and driven, even if he was one of the biggest idiots you had ever met. The man who gave you confidence, a shoulder to lean on. You had just lost one. 

 

It was only when you dared open your eyes, tightly closed at the sound of the gunshot, too fearful to watch, you saw Aaron still standing upright, gun held aloft, paired with a look of absolute devastation and regret etched deeply into his features.

 

 

Alexander had crumpled to the floor, limbs splayed, glasses skewed across his face, gun sat just away from his open hand.

 

The tears that had fallen whilst swimming returned more freely, broken sobs alerting the other men to your presence. You didn’t care, shaking and gasping, trying to remember how to breathe, how to calm yourself, but nothing was working. Your exhaustion was catching up to you, making you weak as you tumbled back down the riverbed, your soaked body dirtied with grit and blades of dead grass, wailing as hands held you, arms wrapped around your shivering, quaking form. You were too late. You hadn’t been fast enough. You had  _ failed. Y _ our screams echoed across the barren duelling grounds, only weakening as you ran out of breath, hyperventilating in your panic.

 

The next hour passed so quickly, like a dream, or a nightmare, more appropriately, you barely comprehended it. Burr holding you close to his chest, as William ushered the pair of you away, solemn in his expression. A blanket, tears, alcohol, tears, wailing outside the bar, Angelica and Eliza, blood, tears. And like that they were gone. Not just Hamilton, gone in body and spirit, but Burr, Eliza, Angelica, damaged permanently by the loss. Aaron hadn’t been the same, taking more time at work, quiet, distant, easier to provoke. Eliza always looked so distraught, lost and uncertain. Angelica seemed heartbroken, putting up a brave front solid enough to convince most people. You could see the tears through it, though, because you had been doing the same.

 

You were badly shaken, having fallen ill from the icy waters of the Hudson. The voice of your old friend seemed to both haunt and comfort you, assuring you that he was fine, that it was his time, he threw away his shot purposefully. You didn't know if it was a voice that was truly there, or one your mind had created in an attempt to comfort you, to help you move away from the panic that had overtaken you. Doctors assured that it was delusions caused by your illness, but you weren't as convinced of such. Theodosia was confused, uncertain, but brave and just as intelligent as ever. She took care of you as best as a young girl can, telling you stories, helping you walk, calming you down in moments where the panic sets back in, the sound of a loud bang, a raised voice, all enough to spark it. She looked after her father, too, whenever he was around. You knew he would appreciate it, even if he was now too afraid to show it.

 

In the end, history obliterates, and even when things return to their usual balance, when you regain your health and the confidence you lost that night, when Angelica regains comfort in her grief, when Eliza regains strength in herself, and when Burr regains his composure and his pride, things will never return to the way they were.


End file.
